Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Cyar'ika pt. 2

A/N: TRY AND CONVINCE ME THAT GIF IS NOT BEAUTIFUL

Warnings: sweet cheesus i didnt know this was gonna be angsty, maybe swearing, injuries?

Word Count: 1393

You stand under the shower head in the 'fresher, wishing the hot water pummeling your skin could wash away all your worries.

You didn't actually believe it was possible to avoid Din on a ship as small as the Razor Crest until... well, until you proved yourself wrong by doing exactly that. And Din was probably doing the same, so whenever you two do pass by each other, there's a thick silence that is only punctuated by the child's coos - probably of confusion, since the two bucket headed humans which he's always seen together are now doing all they can to stay away from each other.

To be honest, you're running out of excuses to escape to a room where Din isn't. You're almost healed now, fever broken a day ago, wound near gone, thanks to the bacta Din left out for you since he's definitely not going to smear it on while you two are acting like the other doesn't exist. The wound still hurts a bit, and you know it's going to be hard to take out the stitches without help, but you'll risk pretty much anything to avoid having to talk out your whiny clinginess during the fever with Din.

You know it's going to happen eventually; one of you is going to break and blurt something out, and you're determined not to be the first, because you have no idea what the outcome will be. And because you're scared - scared that if you stop acting like nothing happened, Din will reveal that he doesn't like you like you like him and the friendship, the trust that you two had built, will all crumble to nothing but memories.

So you stay silent. And you linger in the rooms where Din is not as much as possible. Reaching to the side, you switch off the water, as usual, so Din gets some hot water too, but unlike normally, you sit down in the shower with your back to the tiles, letting the steam warm you until it gets too cold to procrastinate any longer and you're forced to dry yourself off and throw on some clothes. Just before you leave, you lift up your shirt and look at the stitches - the stitches Din made - and look at them. If they stay in any longer, they're likely to get infected. You know that you can't reach them at a good angle, and you risk injuring yourself if you take them out by yourself, but it's not like you can do anything else. Dropping the shirt hem, you slip on your helmet and unlock the 'fresher door and walk slap bang into Din.

'Sorry,' you both mutter at the same time. You move to edge around him, but he doesn't budge, or refuses to budge, so you have to stand there, in front of him, waiting for him.

'Your stitches need to be removed soon,' he says.

'Yeah,' you nod. It's torture, standing there, so close together yet so far apart.

'I should take them out.'

You press your lips together, needing to get past, to run from him. Suddenly, you burst out in a frustrated barrage of words. 'Stars, are you just going to stand there all day? What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do, Mando?'

He takes a step back. You haven't called him Mando in private since you told each other your names, years ago. 'Y/N?'

'Why haven't you kicked me out of your ship yet?' You snap, knowing you've gone too far but not able to help it. 'It's obvious you don't want to look at me let alone get my stitches out so why don't you just chuck me out through the hatch and let me go be miserable somewhere else?'

'I wouldn't - I don't - '

'Yeah, sure,' you say bitterly. 'Of course you'll get my stitches out, of course you wouldn't chuck me out the hatch, of course I'm someone you want here, of course you... of course you love me like I love you.' Your voice cracks, and if he was still before during your rant, now he's frozen. A sob threatens to break from your lips, because he's not moving, he doesn't care, of course he doesn't, and you don't want to cry in front of him, so you turn away, grab the 'fresher door handle -

A hand closes around your wrist. 'Stop.'

But you don't want to see it. You don't want to see the pitying black stare of his visor, don't want him to try and break it to you gently that he doesn't want you, so you snatch your hand back and slam the door behind you, lock it. Your helmet falls with a clang to the 'fresher floor, and you swipe at the tears blurring your vision, huddling into yourself. A lump forms in your throat, and you attempt to swallow it down, holding in your sobs because you know Din will hear them, and somehow, still, you don't want him to. You know it will hurt him. And none of this is his fault, you don't want to put this on him. Surely, this is your fault. Your fault for falling for a man who doesn't love you back.

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You don't know how much later, but you're still on the 'fresher floor, helmet off, everything unchanged but for the door; unlocked. Unlocked, because you still cling onto a small hope that he'll want you, that he'll open the door and scoop you up and... Your heart pangs, and you swipe at another tear that falls. The silence seems to swallow your sniffles which feel so pitful, so weak, and you stare balefully at the shower head, wishing that it was still you and Din, friends, and nothing more.

There's a knock on the door, and that voice sounds, forcing you to hide your face in your hands to smother another choked sob as it speaks. 'Y/N... Y/N, put on your helmet.'

You don't think, you just obey his voice because you've got no life left in you, no fight. The door eases open, and he stands there. 'I - I'm not good at talking,' he starts. 'But I want you to... I... it hurts me to see you like this.'

You stare at him, silent, unresponsive, hopeless now. 'Just... get to the point.'

'Y/N...' His voice cracks. 'I love you too.' He falls to his knees in front of you as you don't move so much as an inch, your tears starting again. He grabs your hand in his, and with his other, he hooks his fingers under his helmet and lifts -

Your eyes slam shut. 'No.' You gasp. 'No, Din. The - the Creed.'

'I don't care,' he growls. 'Look at me. Look at me.'

You shake your head. 'Stop. Please.'

'I love you, Y/N,' he says softly. 'I love you, cyar'ika.'

Your body goes rigid, and of their own accord, your eyes open for a split second before you squeeze them shut again, but his face is engraved in your memory. Soft looking, brown curls, gentle brown eyes which belong wholly to Din, lips which...

He gathers you in his arms. 'I know you saw,' he whispers. 'Marry me, cyar'ika.'

Your tongue speaks for you before your brain can catch up. 'Yes, Din, anything.'

He kisses the beskar cheek of your helmet, and you drink in his features, those beautiful eyes, as he speaks. 'I'm sorry I didn't...'

You shake your head cutting him off. 'Seriously?' You say, voice still wobbling. 'You just black mailed me. If I didn't marry you, you'd have been forced to kill me.'

His laugh without the vocoder makes you melt. 'I guess I was hoping you'd say yes.'

You yank your helmet off, and his eyes have barely settled on your face before you hook an arm around his neck and pull him towards you, locking your mouth onto his. He kisses you back with the desperation of a man who needs you like he needs air, his lips soft as he tangles his hands into your hair. You pull away, glancing back at your helmet which has rolled over to rest against his.

'My cyar'ika,' he murmurs, cupping your face in his callused hands, and you turn your gaze back to him.

'My riduur.'